door-squeezer,” he returned promptly—too promptly? Her eyes narrowed, staring at him. Was he hiding something inside the words? “C’mon, Lucy, superglued and handcuffed—or will you trust me not to lock the door in your face after you go first? Me being the gentleman I am and all.”
“I—I don’t know if I should—”
As if he knew all her hidden fears, he leaned close and whispered, “A whole new world awaits, Lucy Miles, scientific librarian. All you have to do is walk through that door.”
A new world. Oh, he was more right than he knew, and the idea scared her more than she’d admit. But she’d stepped outside her cloistered world last night, the door already breached. There was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath she charged to the door and opened it with a defiant toss of her head, like a warrior going into the Crusades. “Well, let’s do it.”
Those expressive dark eyes filled with laughter as he turned sideways, grabbing her other hand again. “Crabs.”
She gasped. “What?”
He pulled her against him. “Crab-walking’s the only way we’ll get out of here under our superglued and handcuffed, chained-to-each-other policy. Let’s go.”
Uh-oh. Just as well he was holding her up, for her stupid genetic code chose that precise moment to act out again. So a woman’s knees could turn weak at the touch of a man’s body. At the feel of skin against skin, male against female, muscled strength against tender femininity…
What am I thinking? Science, wedding, Hugh—SCIENCE!
Yes, she could focus…just as soon as she could stop feeling his strong chest and taut stomach muscles against her as they shuffled sideways together. When the strange sweetness of his muscled arm around her waist wore off. And when that fresh male scent he wore stopped making her head spin so deliciously…
Ben had the door shut before she realized they were outside. “Welcome back to the outside world. Want to test out your keys?”
Oops, she was still walking sideways—and clinging to him. “Oh. Yes, of course.”
The keys worked just fine. Deflated, she turned back to him, but couldn’t look up. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
“For what?”
“For not cheating.” She gave a little, embarrassed shrug.
“I’m not that much of a Neanderthal, Lucy, I promise.”
She looked up, seeing no hint of laughter in his eyes. He looked awkward, even hurt. She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Ben.”
“You have an amazing voice.” He smiled then, a personal, spine-tingling look. “All breathy and voluptuous. Little girlish, yet all woman. You know, like the way Marilyn Monroe sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to JFK.”
Oh, yes, she knew…the dress, the woman, the powerful male…
“I suspect untold depths live and pulse beneath that cardigan of yours,” Ben said softly. “What’s going on in your mind to put such a dazed, sexy look on your face?”
The bubble burst. “I’m not sexy!”
“You know, an hour ago, I’d have agreed with you. I thought you were a drudge at first.” He shook his head, and that rebel lock of hair fell back over his forehead. “But you’ve changed so many times in the past hour, I can’t wait to see what comes next. I suspect you’re a lady of mercurial depths beneath your prosaic exterior, Lucy Miles. I’d love to see you lose the cardigan.”
“No!” she gasped, pulling it tighter around her.
“And let your hair down, spilling all over your shoulders,” continued the sinuous voice of temptation in her ear.
“Never!”
“And barefoot, running free in the wind and sun, that soft, creamy skin of yours all flushed and hot…”
Hmm…
Stop it!
She kept a close hold of her sweater, glaring at him. “Well, you won’t, and that’s all. Ben—Mr. Capriati—I’m engaged, and I won’t take off my cardigan for any man but Hugh!”
To her dismay, he burst out laughing.
“What?” she demanded, exasperated. Why did he keep laughing at her when no one else ever thought she was funny?
He fell against the wall, in gasping chuckles. “Now I see your problem—you were born in the wrong century. You won’t take off your cardigan for me?” He doubled right over.
Tears sprang to her eyes. “That was unkind of you to say,” she whispered. “And—and you’re wrong. Mother and Father and Hugh are all wrong. I am not a genetic throwback. I am not a poor, submissive little woman who’s only good for supporting things more important than me! I’m a human being, and you will treat me with basic respect, d-do you understand?” She scrubbed at her eyes.
He looked at her for a long moment, with a quiet soberness in his handsome face. “I didn’t mean it. I was jerking your chain. Teasing is my worst habit, according to my family. I’m sorry.” He spoke with the same awkward sincerity he’d used over the keys. “C’mon, let’s go. I won’t laugh at you any more. Scout’s honor.”
“Were you ever a Scout?” she asked doubtfully.
He grinned then. “Suspicious woman. You wound me, Lucy-babe. Just coffee, croissants and pleasant conversation, I swear.”
She resisted the urge to smile, but it was oh, so hard. “I don’t trust you an inch.” Her stomach rumbled again in aggressive protest, and they both laughed. “Well, all right, but I’m only coming for the food. And don’t call me babe!”
Chapter Three
She’d never been in a convertible before…
So seductive. With the top down, they roared through the beachside city. The warm wind blew through her hair, the spring sun touched her skin, and a dark, dangerous man sat beside her, who even made changing gears a sensual caress of the stick. A capable male as well as physically attractive…
Stop thinking about it!
She couldn’t help it. Surfer’s Paradise was known as the Sin City of Queensland. Hot temptation beckoned everywhere; seduction breathed in every pore. It had a life all its own, pulsing from a twenty-mile strip of creamy-white sand—the soft rhythmic throb of spilling waves, its glittering duty-free stores and luxury hotels. Cosmopolitan eateries and open-air markets, pubs, casinos and nightclubs lined every corner.
I can respect you, Abigail. You’re so high-minded, above wanting all the flashy, superficial things other women crave.
Bad girl. Bad girl, the imp whispered. And oh, aren’t we enjoying it for once…
Then Ben roared into a parking space on the strip in front of all the unbroken sand and surf. “Not bad, eh? Doesn’t my sweet Jessica purr
